


and miles to go before you sleep

by folignos



Category: Hockey RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-07-18 15:19:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7320529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/folignos/pseuds/folignos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ben's in Toronto. Paul's in California. It's not always as hard as it sounds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and miles to go before you sleep

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alotofthingsdifferent](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alotofthingsdifferent/gifts).



> lololol this is just porn, and not even explicit porn at that. sorry amanda. i hope you like it anyway!

There’s a water stain on Ben’s hotel room ceiling kind of shaped like an eggplant. He’s been staring at it for about an hour when his phone rings.

He blinks, sleepy, and rolls onto his side to grab his phone from the nightstand. Paul’s face shows up on his caller ID, smiling and bespectacled.

‘Hey,’ Ben says, quietly.

‘Hey you,’ Paul says. Ben can hear the warmth in his voice. ‘How’s the great white north?’

‘Cold,’ Ben says, rolling onto his back. ‘I miss California.’

‘I miss you,’ Paul says, and Ben’s gut clenches a little.

‘You always do that,’ he says.

‘Do what?’ Paul sounds amused. Ben grips his phone a little tighter.

‘Say things like they’re nothing. Like they’re easy.’

‘Missing you isn’t easy,’ Paul says, and Ben suddenly feels every single mile between them.

‘You’re too far away,’ he says, putting a hand on his belly and staring at the water stain.

Paul hums. ‘I know,’ he says. ‘It’s almost the summer. You’re gonna come back to Minnesota with me, right?’

‘Of course I am,’ Ben says. ‘Your mom would kill you if you didn’t bring me home, you know that.’

Paul laughs. ‘Probably,’ he says. ‘I don’t want to talk about my mom right now though.’ His voice has dropped a little, and Ben shivers.

‘No?’ he asks. ‘What do you want to talk about?’

‘Why don’t you try and guess?’ Paul asks, and if Ben wasn’t sure where this is going, he is now. He shifts on the bed slightly, and runs his hand down his belly to rest on the waistband of his shorts.

Ben hums, like he’s thinking. ‘You wanna talk about how last night’s game went?’ he asks.

Paul huffs out a laugh. ‘Good guess, but no.’

‘My new car?’ Ben asks. ‘It’s a hybrid.’

‘Why don’t you have one more guess?’ Paul asks. His accent gets broader when he’s turned on, Ben knows, and he’s sounding very Minnesota right now.

‘Mr Martin,’ Ben teases. ‘Do you want to know what I’m wearing?’

Paul laughs properly at that, a burst of laughter that makes Ben smile despite himself.

‘Mr Martin makes me feel old,’ Paul complains.

‘You are old,’ Ben says. ‘It’s okay, I like it.’

‘Perv,’ Paul says, fond.

‘Does that mean you don’t want to know what i’m wearing?’ Ben asks, trying for innocent but probably missing.

‘Let me guess,’ Paul says. ‘Those basketball shorts with the hole in the crotch that you refuse to throw out.’

Ben looks down at his shorts with the hole in the crotch. ‘You’re no fun,’ he says, and gets another laugh from Paul.

‘I like the shorts,’ Paul says. Ben remembers how much Paul likes the shorts. ‘Easy access,’ he adds, and Ben’s toes curl a little from the sense memory of Paul’s long fingers sliding past the thin material when they were in bed together

‘Me too,’ Ben says. ‘Want me to keep ‘em on?’

‘For now,’ Paul says. Ben can _hear_ the smirk.

Ben slides down in the bed a little, plants his feet, spreads his knees a little. He’s not hard, not even almost, but his dick is starting to stir underneath the thin, slippery material.

‘You’re the boss,’ he says, and Paul makes a soft, surprised sound that curls in Ben’s belly.

‘You touching yourself yet?’ Paul asks. Ben looks at his hand, just tucked underneath the waistband of his shorts. His pinkie finger is just barely brushing against where the wiry curls of hair begin to thicken.

‘Not yet,’ he says. ‘Remembering what you told me about delayed gratification.’

Paul laughs again. It’s Ben’s favourite thing about him, really. The sex was always so happy. Intense, sure, but Paul is always laughing, smiling. It put Ben at ease, in the early days, and now it feels like coming home, hearing Paul laughing down the phone.

‘You can touch yourself, if you want.’

Ben hums, and strokes his thumb along his lower belly. ‘I’m okay. For now.’

‘For now,’ Paul says, and then pauses. ‘It’s not the same,’ he says, ‘When you’re not here.’

‘I know,’ Ben says, still stroking gently. His erection is definitely in the picture now, tenting the fabric of his shorts. ‘This is good enough. Until the summer.’

‘Good enough,’ Paul echoes, quietly. He sighs, long and low.

‘Talk to me?’ Ben asks. His hand inches lower, almost to the base of his dick. He presses into the skin with his fingertips.

‘About what?’ Paul asks.

‘I don’t know,’ Ben says. ‘About-- what you’d do if you were here. Or I was there. You don’t want to be here.’

‘It’s real hot here,’ Paul says. ‘I got the window open, AC on full, and I’m still sweating.’

‘You never could handle the heat,’ Ben says, but he’s thinking about the way Paul gets pink in the heat, the thin sheen of sweat on his chest he gets after a workout, or sex.

‘You’re the one complaining about the cold,’ Paul says. ‘What is it, sixty degrees there? I thought you guys from New England were good at cold weather.’

Ben’s suddenly reminded of the phone in his hand, that Paul’s not in the next room over, he’s two and a half thousand miles away. ‘I saw the game tonight,’ he says.

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah. You looked good out there.’

‘Always do,’ Paul says, smug, and Ben smiles. 

‘Yeah,’ he agrees, and finally, finally, touches his dick, making a soft sound as he curls his fingers around the base.

‘I know that sound,’ Paul says, sounding like he’s smiling. ‘Delayed gratification, huh?’

‘I delayed,’ Ben protests. ‘Then I chose not to delay any longer.’

‘That’s the best thing I’ve heard all night,’ Paul says, and Ben can suddenly hear it in his voice, the tension, the way he’s been holding back.

‘Paul Martin,’ he says, faux-outraged, ‘How long have you had your hand on your dick?’

‘Since I heard your voice,’ Paul admits, shaky.

That’s-- hot, Ben realises, and he grips his dick a little tighter. His hand is sweating a little, and it makes the slide up to the cockhead a little slicker, a little easier, but Ben’s always liked it a little rough.

‘Not the same when it’s not your hand,’ Paul says. ‘Fuckin’ love your hands, Ben, big and broad and always warm, even when it’s freezing outside.’

‘My season could be over tomorrow,’ Ben admits, quiet. ‘I could-- I’ll get straight on a plane after I clean my locker out. I’ll be there before the weekend, Paulie.’

Paul lets out a longing sound. ‘Please, Ben.’

‘I’ll get to your-- our apartment straight from the airport,’ he says, working his hand a little faster. ‘You can fuck me on the couch, just like you always wanted to.’

‘You hate the couch,’ Paul says, breathy. ‘You hate the leather.’

‘I won’t mind messing it up,’ Ben says. ‘Fuck, Paul, it’s been a month and a half, I _miss_ you. I’d have sex in the middle of SAP if it meant I could touch you again. In the middle of the goddamn street.’

Paul starts laughing again, but Ben can hear the hitch in his voice that means he’s close. He speeds up his hand; he wants them to come at the same time.

Paul’s orgasm is quiet but intense, a series of little, rapid grunts that Ben knows immediately. Ben follows after, fucking up into his hand indelicately, louder than he normally would be. He wants Paul to hear him.

‘Fuck,’ Paul says, after he’s caught his breath. Ben agrees. 

‘I hope your season isn’t over tomorrow,’ Paul says, out of the blue. ‘But I’d be lying if I didn’t say that being able to see you this weekend would be as good than making the playoffs.’

‘This doesn’t feel like my team,’ Ben says, carefully. ‘It’s not-- It’s not Chicago. It’s not San Jose. It’s not even the goddamn Barracuda. This isn’t my team. I want to come home, Paulie.’

‘I know,’ he says, quietly. ‘It took me a minute to stop thinking about Pittsburgh as home.’

‘I don’t want Toronto to be home,’ Ben admits.

‘For as long as I’m here,’ Paul says, slowly, firmly, ‘San Jose will be your home.’

Ben takes a deep, slow breath. ‘I know,’ he says. ‘It just sucks, being so far away suddenly. I’ve never-- had a person to be home before.’

‘I love you,’ Paul says.

Every time he says it, Ben feels it rush through him like physical warmth.

‘I love you too,’ he says. ‘I’ll see you soon. This weekend, next, I don’t know. Soon. I promise.’

‘I’ll keep the bed warm for you,’ Paul promises, and hangs up.

There’s come drying on the inside of Ben’s shorts, on his hand. The water stain is still on the ceiling. Ben’s still stuck in a crappy hotel in the middle of Toronto, and he can hear sirens every thirty seconds, but. He has a plan. He has plans with Paul. He’ll see him soon.


End file.
